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Adrien spent all his time with the boys while James took over command of the household. Luc and I shuttled between quick visits to the twins and long periods sitting by his mother, taking to her, dripping water between her lips. I knew that if we could not rouse her very soon, dehydration would be fatal. I think Luc knew it too, but we did not speak of it, even in the intimacy of his bedchamber after yet another desperate bout of lovemaking.
And then, on the fifth day after the accident Luc, who was sitting holding her hand and reading the The Morning Post out loud to her, dropped the newspaper. ‘She squeezed my hand! Mama, open your eyes.’
I thought she had slipped away again, but then her lids fluttered and those beautiful sea-green eyes, so like Luc’s, were looking at me, vague and bemused.
‘Quickly, prop her up.’ I seized the water glass and held it to her lips. ‘Drink, please drink.’
She did, then her eyes closed again.
I looked at Luc. ‘That may be the turning point. If we can just watch her like a hawk, get fluids into her at every opportunity –’
The door opened and Adrien came in. ‘I may be wrong, but I think Matthew is throwing a fever,’ he said.
I pushed Luc towards the door. ‘Go and check, I will watch her.’
When they had gone I sat down, suddenly dizzy. Relief and now new anxiety, I supposed. I rang the bell and, when Pettit came, told her the good news and she understood what was needed immediately.
‘I will go and tell Cook to make barley water,’ she said, bustling out.
I began to feel really peculiar. The room was swimming and there was a buzzing in my ears and, finally, I understood. Whatever force it was that moved me through time was trying to send me back, now. Why, when Luc needed me as never before, I could not fathom, but this was not something I could control. If I fought it I had no idea what might happen or where I would end up.
There were two footmen in the hallway. ‘Run and
fetch Pettit, now,’ I ordered one of them. ‘And you go to his lordship, tell him I have to leave. Run.’
I held on to the doorframe as though that might anchor me and then Pettit came, cap ribbons flying.
‘Go in to Lady Radcliffe. Don’t leave her until his lordship comes. I have to go.’
Somehow I got up the stairs, bouncing from one side to another like a drunk. I staggered down the corridor, through the door into Lady Radcliffe’s dressing room and up to the long cheval glass with the original of Luc’s portrait miniature hanging beside it. The glass was already cloudy and gave as I touched it. I stepped through, the wind seized me and I was spinning away.
I fell onto my own sofa which was a pleasant change from my usual crash-landing on the floor. That seemed to be about the only good news. Trubshaw plodded up, peered at me and expressed feline disapproval of life in general and me in particular, then marched back to the kitchen.
Eventually I sat up, mopped my eyes, told myself that Luc would know I couldn’t control this and also that it was a long way from Whitebeams to Welhampstead and that, even if he sent a messenger with news immediately, I couldn’t expect to have a delivery from the solicitors’ office for at least forty-eight hours.
I had seen pictures of the twins when they were older, I reminded myself as I sorted myself out, had a shower, made a fuss of Trubshaw and then fell into bed and slept the clock round.
* * *
Time passed and messages arrived. Matthew had pneumonia, Lady Radcliffe was conscious, but was desperately weak and unable to stand or walk. Luc understood and knew I would come back as soon as my personal black hole permitted me to.
But it showed no sign of working and, a month later, I was still firmly in my own time, a little cheered by the messages from the past, but very confused about why I could not return. Matthew was getting better, but still had a worrying cough and little appetite. Lady Radcliffe continued to give Luc sleepless nights. I can’t say I was sleeping well either.
Then I realised that something was not right with me, either, and that was the point where my world turned upside down.
* * *
By the middle of October the bulletins from Luc, delivered by Frank Ponsonby, were more encouraging. Matthew had benefitted from a month at the seaside and Lady Radcliffe was able to stand and walk a few steps with a stick.
What poor Frank thought about me snatching these mysterious envelopes out of his hand on a regular basis, I didn’t know until one day, in late November, when I had ripped one open in front of him and it was all good news and I burst into tears, he guided me back into the living room and sat me down.
‘You don’t have to tell me about it,’ he said. ‘But Welhampstead has some uncanny features, I’ve discovered. I’ve been reading the diaries that my ancestors who were in the firm have left and, frankly, very little would surprise me.’
I blew my nose and eyed him cautiously. ‘What, exactly, do you mean?’
‘Just that I am guessing you might be something of an expert on the early nineteenth century,’ he said. ‘And it isn’t only you: there’s a house in town that is… strange. But don’t tell me any secrets, I just wanted you to know I am making sure there’s no speculation about your boxes and envelopes.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. I would have thought that Frank was the most down to earth, stolid type you could imagine, not someone who could take the possibility of time travel for granted. ‘The thing that had been worrying me – it is all right now.’
